


You Came Back

by Fanfictionwriter117



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Baelfire hasn't forgotten his papa, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Poor Spinner!Rumple, Povery, Protective Bae, Rumple!Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:50:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2704472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfictionwriter117/pseuds/Fanfictionwriter117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been 12 years since Rumplestiltskin gave up Bae in the hopes that his boy would have a better life. </p>
<p>He has truly become dust, he is exhausted and weakened. He just survives each day until he meets someone he never thought he would see again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Life

Daily life had stopped in an instant.

As soon as the distant voices were heard along with the galloping of horses hooves, the villagers immediately stopped what they were doing in curiosity of their visitors. Not many ventured into their village.

Being a village in the Frontlands, one of the poorest, most remote territories, it meant that the inhabitants didn't have the honour of being graced with new faces so when faced with the possibility of visitors passing though, all life came to a standstill in favour as to how these people might be.

Though curiosity did not mean that they had no right to be afraid. Usually any outsiders who did come to the village was there on behalf of the Duke. The Duke of the Frontlands was the lord to whom they swore their allegiance and obedience. It was he who governed the territory, it was he who made the laws which dictated how they lived their lives. If anyone where to go against this? The consequences would be severe. Fear is what kept the peasants in line.

So upon seeing new faces, they were naturally wary. They watched with caution; some still clutching their wooden pitch forks and rakes, the women holding their children close to them in what looked like a futile attempt at protection should anything arise. A group of five well dressed men on black horses came into the muddy village, circling around to form a perimeter between the villagers and the village entrance.

The villagers doing well to stay away. Suddenly, one rider came forth holding a flag with a coat of arms embodied into it, symbolising the house from which they had come. As he did this a second rider came beside him. Out of all of them, he was the best dressed. He wore a simple cream tunic with an outer layer made of fine red leather, his breeches made of the same linen as his tunic. His boots also made from fine leather.

He was a man of wealth.

He was well fed, clean shaven and of a strong build. Defiantly not a peasant like the many inhabitants of these lands. It was anyone's guess as to where he hailed from. The one thing that was certain was that he was not from the Frontlands. The silver ceremonial armour in which he wore told that he was of nobility.

Turing his large horse around, he rode slowly up and down the gathering of cautious peasants, His eyes scouring, analysing them as though looking for someone.

"I am looking for the Spinner, Rumplestiltskin!" He announced to the crowd, receiving hushed whispers amongst them at the mention of the name.

He continued to search the crowd but still nothing. Sighing, he gave his horse a slight nudge in the side to get him to turn so that he may once again look though the crowd of peasants, this time a little slower.

" _Rumplestiltskin!_ " He called once again, forcing the authority into his tone of voice, all the while hoping beyond all hope that coming all this way had not been in vain. 

Fortune was with him; for the crowd slowly parted, still murmuring amongst themselves as a man timidly approached. One hand clutched his wooden walking stick as he limped painfully towards the man who had demanded his presence while his other hand grasped at his thin cloak, holding it tightly around himself. Holding onto his stick for support, he lowered himself to the ground, bowing his head low which caused his matted hair to fall in front of his eyes.

"Are you Rumplestiltskin?" He questioned the kneeling figure.

The thin, timid man nodded but not daring to look the noble in the eye "I-I am.."

The young noble's eyes softened. _He had found him._

Dismounting his steed, he approached the man with slow but steady steps. Kneeling down to the poor spinner's level, he gently brushed the man's hair out of his face, his heart almost breaking at the sight of the poor man. The man before him was painfully thin. His loose, threadbare tunic exposed the top of his chest, his bones clearly visible. His dirty, ragged clothes hung from his bony frame. His hair was longer than he remembered, his matted hair dirty and his scalp irritated by head lice. He had bags under his eyes, indicating that he had not had a goodnight's sleep for quite some time. Looking at his hands he seen scars and calluses caused by years of toiling, strife and spinning. 

Spinning was his livelihood, it was what put food in his belly but it was also painful work over time going by the state of his hands. It was repetitive and exhausting. He then had to make the journey to Longbourne to try and sell his wares, always coming back with just enough coins to ensure that he would not go hungry that day and then the work began again. It was the one thing he was good at, his one talent. His spinning wheel was his joy but by the end of the night he was always tired and hungry.

Looking down at the frail man he noticed him shivering. Without a second thought, he unchained his cloak, draping it around the frail man's shoulders. Reaching up, the poor man took hold of the cloak's fur lining, pulling it tightly around himself.

He did not say a word nor did he dare raise his gaze to look upon the man who was showing him such kindness. He did not know why this man had travelled to his village to see him. He had done nothing wrong, he kept to himself as he had no friends. After he was branded the 'Village Coward,' he was shunned, mocked and taunted everywhere he went. No one would buy from him so It made it even more difficult for him to sell his wares, him going hungry as a result. Distant places like Longbourne were his only option to make a living in his trade. 

"You are wondering why I asked for you?"

The other man's voice broke the silence between them as it was evident to him that the frail man before him would not dare speak out of turn.

The spinner nodded. He did not utter a word nor did he dare look up. He was a peasant. He would not raise his gaze until permission was given. He would not speak unless spoken to or until he was ordered to do so. He did, however, hear the man kneeling before him shift from his previous position; the sheath and hilt of his sword swaying from where it hung on his belt.

"I made a vow to someone many years ago. A promise." 

Reaching out to the frightened man, he tentatively took his chin "I made a vow that I would not forget him."

_You'll always be my Papa._

He gently lifted the man's chin so that his gaze met his own "I made a vow that I would return for him."

_I'll come back for you._

The spinner held the other man's gaze, his mouth forming the words of his boy all those years ago as realisation truly dawned across his weathered features. His eyes were glassy as tears welled up in them, only beginning to stream down his cheeks.

"Bae?" He brought a worn hand to caress the young man's features, "my Bae?"

Bae gave an assuring nod, eyes welling with his own tears. All those years, not one day had gone by where he did not think of his Papa. Not one day had passed where he had not worried for his wellbeing, whether he was alright, if he was sick? Lonley? Mistreated? His Papa could have died and he would have had no way of knowing of his fate. As the days had turned into weeks, the weeks to months and the months to years, Bae had always thought of him. 

He had always swore that he would, one day, come back for him. He would give him a better life as his Papa had done for him all those years ago. 

He had grown. He had matured. He had made something of himself. He had enough wealth that would ensure a comfortable lifestyle but found that he could never enjoy it knowing that the type of life he once had as a boy was the same life that his Papa still lived. 

But that mattered not. He had journeyed back to his childhood home, he had found his Papa and he would see to it that he was well. He would keep him. He would give his Papa the quality of life he deserved and so much more.

He would see his Papa cared for. He would see that he was given three good meals a day, that he was well fed.

Never again would he go without.

He would be given clean, finer clothes; not the worn, dirty rags he wore now. He would be given own lodgings next to Bae's. He would have a warm bed to sleep in, an open fire to warm him, a wardrobe full of clothes for him to wear, a hot bath which would do wonders for his leg. He would have his beloved spinning wheel. Bae, knowing it was the only earthly position that his Papa owned and to part with it would break him. 

He would teach his Papa how to read, how to write. 

He would have his lame leg treated. Bae would ensure that he would want for nothing. His Papa had been striving and struggling his entire life. Never, even when he had struggle to provide for himself and Bae, had his Papa sought the charity of others.

Bae's eyes darkened at the realisation that all he got was scorn and ridicule. He was beaten, taunted, mocked and humiliated.

_Spindleshanks. Threadwhistle. Hobblefoot._

_Kiss my boot._

Bae had never forget the time his Papa had been forced to kiss the boots of a knight. It was the ultimate punishment. A demonstration of power and authority, to show his boy how worthless his coward of a father was!

He had just done what needed to be done. If he had to walk the 20 miles to Longbourne and back to sell wool, spools and thread, he would endure it knowing that it would feed Bae. Nothing else mattered and the more Bae grew the more he realised just how much his papa had worked for him, just so that he may have the change of a batter life. That was all his Papa wanted for him.

Looking back down at his Papa, he saw the poor man swaying uneasily, his eyes suddenly becoming unfocused of the world around him before they rolled back into his head, his body slumping forward as he lost consciousness. Bae caught him in his arms and held his close, rocking him gently.

His Papa had lost consciousness.

Bae's heart went out to his poor Papa as he bundled him in his cloak, holding him protectively. They had a long, cold journey ahead of them.

"Let's go home." He whispered, placing a tender kiss upon his forehead.

_He was bringing his Papa home._


	2. Home

He was bringing his Papa home.

He was taking his papa far, far away from this wretched place. It was the village of Bae's birth and childhood. Nothing more. The memories he recalled were not pleasant and thinking back on them, even to this day, made his anger flare. Being the son of the village coward had branded him also. He was avoided by the other children, their parents sparing no details in telling them of his Papa, the man who had brought shame to the village. Disgrace.

The other children had bullied him, laughed at him. They had mocked him for not having a mother, they had taunted him about his papa and mocked his disability, often doing cruel imitations of him, limping with a stick.

That was what had angered Bae the most. His Papa was a cripple, he was lame. He could not walk without the assistance of his stick, even then it was a daily struggle. 

There had been times Bae had risen before dawn while his Papa still slept. He had cleaned the small hovel they called their home. He had tidied and arranged his Papa's spools, thread and wool, packing them neatly into woven baskets for their long journey to the market. He let the sheep out of their pen and made sure they were fed.

After having his own breakfast which was nothing more than a cup of water and a hunk of stale bread, he brought some to his papa who was still asleep. Not having the heart to wake him, he quietly, gently set the small plate down by his side. Looking upon his Papa's resting form, Bae gave a sad smile. He was so peaceful when he slept. It was the only time he seen his Papa at peace, with no worries or fears.

His Papa was always exhausted.

Bae could tell. He could see the heavy bags under his eyes; he saw the fatigue.

He knew his Papa had trouble sleeping. He sometimes watched him from his own bed, a mere straw pallet on the floor, covered with a few throws of sheep wool. He watched his papa try to soothe the pain in his leg, gently kneading at the effected area just below the knee. It never brought him much relief. If it did, Bae would not have to help him out of bed every morning.

Looking back, he now realsied just how much his Papa had to deal with. There was always wool to be spun and thread to be weaved, his wares to sell for whatever price he could get and most of the times it was little more than a few coppers and maybe a silver. To a respectable tradesman, the price was nothing but to his papa it was more than he could hope to ask for. Anything he was given was more than he could ask for.

Bae knew how much work and devotion his Papa put into his trade and to get barley enough to put food on the table just seemed so unfair.

_Life isn't always fair, Bae. We must be thankful for what we have._

He remembered his Papa's words.

For his Papa, to be given anything at all for his wares, no matter how meagre, was a blessing.

That was the type of man his papa was. He held no hatred towards others despite how others treated him. The respect and admiration Bae had for his Papa was unquestionable. He was a kind, gentle man who would never hurt anyone. He was timid, shy. He had no friends, only his boy. Bae was all he had left, his world, but he also knew of the life his boy had to lead because of his own choices. He was the village coward and because of that, Bae suffered.

He knew his boy was bullied, he knew he was mocked and laughed at. If could wish for anything it would be for his boy to have a good life, to be happy.

Like him, Bae had no friends.

Like him, Bae was illiterate.

To have an education was a privilege, not a right. He deserved so much more than the life he had. Bae deserved to be educated, to have a chance at life.

It was something his Papa never had; the freedom of choice. He had never been given a choice, he had been taught how to spin and that was it. He did indeed have a talent, it helped clear his mind but at the same time he knew that it was something that he did not choose for himself.

Not that it mattered now; he was too old to have any hope of an education, to be anything different than what he had been his entire life. He couldn't read, nor could he write. It was something that did his mind all that often, but there were a few times at the market he would occasionally glance over at the other merchant's stall which displayed a vast amount of books, scrolls, manuscripts and parchments. He had never seen so much literature but the letters and inscriptions upon the old pages meant nothing to him.

It was not important. 

None of it was.

The most important thing was selling his wares so that he may return home with food to put on the table.

He was blessed to have, Bae. He had tried to be a good father to his son, tried to provide him with what he could. He knew that he was poor; he had no money other than what he got for selling his wares. He had no land nor did he have power. Other than his boy and a creaking spinning wheel that had seen better days, he had nothing.

He knew that he was not a young man anymore. He was getting older, becoming slower, more weary. 

There were times when Bae was the one taking care of him. He had cooked the food when his Papa had become too tried to cook, he had carried the baskets of wool for his papa to ease his burden.

There had been times Bae had approached his Papa and told him to stop spinning, packing up his spool, thread and wool to emphasise his point. While on the road when his Papa had become so tired he had almost collapsed on the side of the road. Bae, terrified for his Papa's health had unloaded all the bundles his Papa was carrying on his back, urging him to rest. He had then remained by the side of the road, desperately trying to grab a cart driver's attention in hopes that he would carry his Papa. He did not understand that unless one had something to offer then no one was interested, much less in a young boy and his crippled father.

Bae's pleas had gone on deaf ears. Sadly, he returned to his Papa, curling into him on the side of the road, waiting for his Papa's strength to return so that they could continue their journey home. They returned home after nightfall, his Papa almost ready to collapse again as soon as they crossed the threshold. He was struggling for breath as tears welled up in his weary eyes.

His leg was in agony.

It was on that day, Bae understood that no matter how much be begged and pleaded for someone to come and help them, no one would have come whether he had anything to give or not.

They were peasants. Why would anyone care about a poor cripple or his young son?

Like his Papa, Bae was invisible to the world.

Like him, Bae was never a fighter. He never had been. He was a gentle boy who avoided confrontation. He kept himself to himself, much like his papa did. When the other children in the village laughed at him, he ran back to his Papa who was always hard at work spinning, preparing for his next journey to Longburne where the market occurred. Yet despite the tears,his papa had dropped everything to comfort his child.

He had held him close as Bae sobbed. He could never understand why the children treated him differently, why they excluded him. He was the son of the village coward but did that mean the boy had to be treated any different? It was not the boy's fault his father was who he was. All his boy ever wanted to do was make friends, join in with the other children, play. He had told his papa what the other children had said, how they mocked and laughed at him. All the while his Papa continued to hold him, gently stroking his hair as it was the only comfort he could give his boy.

He cried that he hated them, for how they treated him and his Papa. His Papa had then told him that to hate another person was to darken ones heart. He still didn't understand how his Papa could not feel hate towards those who had treated him so unfairly, did he truly forgive them? Bae didn't know how he could, not after seeing just how much his father struggled and yet still couldn't find it in his heart to say that he hated those who had shunned him.

There was so much he did not understand but he loved and respected his Papa, he would trust his judgement. Letting out a tired yawn, Bae closed his eyes as he rested his head against his Papa's chest, his hand clutching the stained fabric of his father's threadbare tunic as he listened to his Papa's heartbeat.

It was that same heartbeat he could hear now, holding his papa close to his chest. Even after so many years, the memories were still fresh in his mind.

Bae breathed in deeply, there would be another time and place to recount old memories, 

Still bearing in mind his Papa's disability, he gently slid an arm behind his Papa's legs while the other arm supported his back, his head resting limply against his shoulder. He rose to his feet in a single, fluid motion. His Papa weighed practically nothing as he lifted him with ease onto the horse's back. He made sure that his papa was settled properly on the horse before remounting himself, gently adjusting his Papa's position so that he had an arm around his waist while his other hand grasped the horse's reign.

"Move out!" Bae shouted as he turned his horse with a nudge to the side, his men following suit.

It was the last time he would ever return to that place. He never wanted to lay sight on it again. As for his Papa's spinning wheel, he would have one of his men retrieve it the following morning. Right now, Bae's priority was to get his papa home.

Despite being a long and winding road, the journey back home was not as long as Bae had recalled when he was travelling to his Papa's village. The journey back was indeed some distance to travel, even on horseback but Bae found that he now had other matters to turn his attention to other than the duration of the journey.

His papa's comfort and care was what mattered now. 

Everything else could wait.

Right now, Bae had a series of emotions going through his head. He felt worry for his Papa's health yet was relieved knowing that he was with him now, that they were headed to a place where he could be taken care of, where he could rest. He still felt anger from recounting those memories, reliving the times he and his papa had struggled. He would have to push them to the back of his mind when they reached home. 

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to rest, all the while keeping a firm arm around his papa's waist. He let his mind wander, listening to the sounds of the trees rustling in the wind, the chirping of the birds as they soared over their heads and nestled into the trees. He listened to the horses hooves as they walked over the uneven ground, the occasional murmur from one of his men.

It had been a long day.

The more they travelled along the road, the more road they put behind them. For Bae, the more distance he had put between his Papa and that village the better. This was the start of a new life for him. Once they had crossed the Frontlands' border, Bae felt as though a weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. They had now entered a new territory and a new territory came with it's own laws and regulations of citizenship. Peasant folk of the Frontlands owed their allegiance and fealty to the Duke of the Frontlands. They were not directly owned as property, as slaves, but they were not free either. They lived under a fearful regime.

Bae had lived under that regime as a boy. It was there he had grown up, but it was here he had wealth and position.

He was a noble in his own right.

The dawning realisation brought tears to his eyes; his Papa was free.

"Sir?" One of his men pulled him from his musings. Looking ahead, beyond the muddy trail, he could not help but smile. For there, beyond the moorland, surrounded large by a stone wall was a manor house. In front of the house was a vast cobble courtyard with adjoining stables to the side. The manor house was a huge structure with a beautifully crafted oaken doorway. As they neared their destination, Bae felt an overwhelming sense of protectiveness. This was his home, but for his Papa, this was an entirely new way of living. He would not be used to living in a grand home. He would not be used to having people do this for him. He doubted he had ever been this far away from his village before. Compared to this, travelling to Longbourne by foot was nothing.

He would be outside the comfort zone of his little hovel in the village. He would not know his way around. He would be scared and unsure of himself. His Papa had never been a very confident person but the years of living as a disgraced outcast had done little to raise his self esteem and sense of self worth. Bae knew that he would most likely feel somewhat uncomfortable in his new home at the beginning. As much as he hated to see his Papa forlorn, until he was certain his Papa was well enough, he would not be leaving the manor house anytime soon.

As they neared the entrance to the manor house, the horses hooves sounding against the cobbles, Bae felt suddenly exhausted. It had been a long day and now he had finally arrived home with his Papa with him. Coming into the spacious courtyard, echoed footsteps could be heard from inside the manor house's hallway as a small, plump woman came hurrying out to meet them. Holding her flour stained apron as she ran, her flushed red cheeks brought a smile to Bae's face. She came to an abrupt stop in front of his horse, startling the animal slightly in the process causing it to take a few steps back.

"Welcome home, Master Baelfire!" She greeted with a curtsy.

"Maggie," he inclined his head to her, a fond smile on his face causing her to giggle. Maggie was his cook; a gentle, caring soul. She had bonded with him when he was a boy and as he grew and matured, that bond had only grown stronger. He had long since seen her as a close friend as well as an employee.

"How fare your travel?" She asked, patting down her old apron.

"Successful," he remarked as he dismounted his horse, careful as to not jostle his Papa. Reaching up, he gently wrapped his arms around his Papa's thin waist, emitting a weak groan from the older man. Maggie watched as Bae gently hushed him. Whoever he was, he meant something to Master Baelfire. 

With his arm supporting his back, he slowly pulled him forward before carefully placing an arm under his limp legs. Once he had him safely in his arms, he felt his Papa once again shivering. He noticed Maggie looking at him with concerned eyes. "Master Bae-"

"The room?" He cut her off. Now was not a good time to explain. His Papa was shivering and most likely had a fever. Noticing this, Maggie tentatively stepped forward, placing a gentle hand upon his forehead.

"He's burning."

_No_

It was as Bae feared...


	3. Sick

_Hang on, Papa._

Bae carried him through the hallway and up the grand stairway, Maggie scurrying to keep up with his pace. She did not know who this man was to Master Baelfire, but she could see that he cared immensely for him. 

They brought him to a room near the end of the hallway at the top of the stairs.

"Maggie, the door." Protectively holding around his Papa, did not want to risk jostling his already fragile frame. Maggie did as she was bid; she could her the emotion in her young Master's voice. She opened the large oaken door to reveal a large, spacious room that made their old hovel look like a pen for livestock.

Like the bedroom door, the floor was lined with rich oak wood, draped with embroidered rugs of the finest making. To the left hand corner of the room a privacy screen, behind it a bath tub made of polished black marble. In the centre of the room stood a king-sized, four poster bed with an open fireplace at the foot. The sheets and pillows were linen, stuffed with goose feathers. The duvet was lined with cream coloured satin, numerous bolsters surrounding the pillows. The bed's headboard, like it's supportive posters were made of mahogany, intricate carvings embedded into the wood.

The coldness surrounding the room was the only indication that it had gone years uninhabited.

"I'll start a fire," She assured. The chill of the room hit them as soon as they opened the doors.

While Maggie got a fire going in the old hearth, he carried his Papa over to the large bed, carefully laying him down, trying to to irritate his crippled leg. It almost broke Bae's heart hearing his Papa's pained whimper as soon as his head hit the soft pillows. He put a tentative hand on his forehead, the heat still radiating from him.

"Still burning," Bae muttered dejectedly. If anything, his Papa's fever had increased.

_He's getting worse._

"I-I'll get some water," Maggie suggested, feeling a loss at what she could do to help. She was not a physician.

Bae nodded as he tenderly stoked his Papa's forehead, eyes never leaving him. He heard the hurried footsteps of Maggie's shoes against the wooden floor, the bedroom door closing.

The room now was beginning to heat up with the fire now stoked and burning, the light of the flames dancing with a pleasant glow.

"Papa.." Bae whispered, continuing to stroke his Papa's brow "I'm sorry."

_I'm so sorry._

Ever since he had walked into the room and beheld it's grander, he felt an overwhelming sense of shame. He was now a wealthy man. He lived in this grand house. He wore fine clothes, ate good food. He had servants at his beck and call, a whole life ahead of him.

_And his Papa?_

Bae sighed, bowing his head as the realisation of his Papa's state once again came to mind.

For the past 12 years, his Papa lived in squalor. He lived in that dirty hovel, lame and friendless. He wore threadbare garments; Rags. He ate what scraps he could afford from selling his wares. When Bae was a boy, his Papa usually went hungry, giving what little he had for himself to Bae.

_"You need it more, my boy."_

A bout of coughing quickly snapped him out of the musing that surly intended to haunt him. His Papa had suddenly started coughing, the fit leaving him breathless.  His chest heaving as his body tried to gather oxygen back into his lungs. He couldn't catch a breath. Every time he tried to breathe, another coughing fit wracked his weak body.

"No, no, no" Bae mumbled, gingerly bringing his Papa forward so that he was resting against Bae's chest. He was still heaving, even as Bae held him.

"Shhhh," Bae soothed, gently rubbing his back. His eyes widened in both shock and horror as he could feel the vertebrae jutting out his Papa's back. He was no more than skin and bone; a horrible reminder of his life.

Closing his eyes, he tucked his Papa's head closer to his chest, his hand holding his head protectively.

_Forgive me._

He sat with his Papa silence, slowly rocking him.

He remembered when he was a boy. He remembered how many times his Papa had comforted him, soothed him whenever he was sick, injured or frightened. When he was little, despite the discomfort it brought to his right leg, his Papa always sat him on his lap. He always knew what to say to make him feel better. He always embraced him, rocked him. He was always there. It was now time that Bae was there for his Papa. He was the only thing his Papa had. Bae had been his only reason to go on living. Without Bae, he was dust. 

But things would be different now.

His Papa would be with his boy again. 

Not wanting to move him around more than was necessary, more than he already had, Bae gently lay his Papa back onto the bed. 

Quickly looking over his thin form, he could tell that he needed to be bathed. As much as he knew it wasn't his Papa fault, he could smell him. It was the odour of an unwashed body. He was also suffering from head lice as Bae had seen from his clearly irritated scalp, raw from constant scratching.

His Papa's eyes were closed, his brow creased in discomfort as his head lazily lolled from side to side.

He was delirious. 

Bae doubted he knew what was going on around him.

When he heard the bedroom door open slowly, he was relieved to see Maggie appear with a ceramic bowl and pitcher.

"How is he?" She asked, closing the door with her hip.

"Fever's higher." Bae replied, looking back at his Papa, not watching as Maggie approached nor as she set down her collected supplies on a bedside table.

"Well, this should help cool him," Bae looked to see Maggie soak a cloth in what he assumed was lukewarm water before ringing it out. He moved aside as she reached over, laying the cloth across his Papa's fevered forehead. As soon as she pressed the cloth to his brow he let out a small gasp, his chest heaving slightly upwards before settling down again, a sigh of what could only be relief escaping his dry, cracked lips.

"There now," Maggie cooed with a pitiful smile. Her hazel eyes turned to Bae; "Master Baelfire, could you ring out another one of those cloths for me, dear?"

Bae nodded, doing as she bid. He could see she clearly knew what she was doing with his Papa and despite her station as his cook, she was his oldest and closest friend. She had looked out for him when he was a boy. She had his trust gained his trust long ago.

He rung out a second damp cloth and handed it to her. She adjusted the cloth on his forehead before unlacing the thin strand of cord which held the front of his tattered tunic together, exposing his bony chest. 

Bae took one of his Papa's hands, holding it gently as Maggie carefully dabbed his neck and chest, taking note of his now relaxed breathing. The relief he felt putting him into a relaxed slumber. Noticing this, Bae smiled fondly, brushing a lanky strand of brown hair out of his eyes.

_He's asleep._

Still tending to his Papa, Maggie continued to bathe his neck and chest until the cloth began to cool. Seeing that it was now useless, she threw the cloth back into the basin. The last thing they wanted was for him to get a chill. Sitting back with a sigh, she pushed a grey strand of hair behind her ear where it had came loose from her bun. 

While she was certain that they had indeed managed to temporarily reduce his fever, his fever had not broken. 

Maggie had not always been a cook. She had begun as a scullery maid, always running errands and scrubbing floors. She remembered walking through a town, a town rank with poverty and the one thing that she had never been able to forget was the smell. The smell of bodies long gone unwashed. When she was washing him down, the one thing that had got to her was the smell coming from him. As much she hated to admit it, it almost made her gag. She understood that it was not the poor man's fault but he was in dire need of a good wash. That was something, she was afraid, that could not afford to wait.

If she was truly honest, she wouldn't be surprised if the smell and hygienic state of his body wasn't a contributing factor to his illness. Looking to her young master, she watched as he held his limp hand to his lips.

Tentatively, she reached out and touched his forearm, "Master Baelfire?"

"Yes?" His voice sounded tired.

"I'm afraid he needs a bath."

He desperately needed a bath.

_He positively reeked._

She couldn't imagine how the poor man had lived in filth and squalor. His clothes were ripped, ragged and stained. His face and hands caked with dirt.

Bae nodded in understanding, knowing that he would doing his Papa no favours if he continued to let him lie in his own filth. 

The poor wretch had no quality of life and her heart went out to him. She had seen many things in her time, many sad things.

He was weak, sick and frail and it wouldn't surprise her if he had arthritis.

In which case; maybe a nice, warm bath was just what he needed.

"I'll draw one now." She said with a positive smile, rising from her place on the bed. She could see Master Baelfire had many things going through his head. This was not the friendly, smiling Master she knew, but a worried, conflicted young man who cared deeply for the man before him, whoever it may be. Though, when she first laid eyes on him in the courtyard, she had guessed that he was a peasant. Was he a beggar? 

"Thank you," Bae smiled, looking into her eyes with a genuine smile of gratitude. Maggie was a cook, not a Valet. She did not have to sit with him, to soothe an old man's fever, to run his bath for him. She knew nothing about him and yet she did all of this. Bae had always known that she had a kind heart. He knew that she was compassionate. He knew that she was doing it because she did not want to see another human being suffer, be that him or his Papa. 

With a gentle smile and a bow of the head, she hurried once again from the room to gather the needed supplies. He watched her go until he could no longer hear her footsteps echo the hallway.

"..Unhh..."

Looking down at the figure on the bed, Bae's heart almost leapt at the sight of two weary, brown eyes looking back at him, blinking slowly as though only just roused from sleep.

Bae smiled, tears welling in his eyes at the sight of his Papa finally awake. For a split second, he had truly thought that he was going to lose him.

"Hello Papa," he said in a gentle tone.

His Papa only yawned before his eyes closed again, slumber taking him once more.

With his Papa asleep once more, Bae found himself able to relax. His Papa was sick, weak and frail. He still had a long road to recovery but if him being able to wake up by himself was anything to go by, then Bae felt at ease knowing that his Papa would be okay.

Maggie returned shortly with everything that was needed in order to give him a bath, mumbling about the length of time water takes to boil. The old cook gave one quick glance over at the two on the bed before hurrying behind the privacy screen to start her task. She knew she would have to make a few trips to and from the kitchen to get enough boiled water for the tub. It was laborious but she did not feel that Master Baelfire would want anyone else knowing about their unknown guest until he was sure that he was going to be alright, until he was cleaned and put to bed.

She poured the buckets of steaming water into the tub before returning to get more. Bae knew what she was doing so he let her continue, he was still holding his Papa's hand and didn't want to disturb him so he just sat quietly, waiting for the bath to be ready. The only sounds other than Maggie's footsteps coming in and out of the room was his Papa's breathing. Before it was ragged and short, now it was calm and relaxed. 

Maggie made two more trips to the kitchen before she informed him that the bath was finally ready. 

Bae wordlessly set about about removing his Papa's tattered garments. He removed his Papa's old tunic and leggings, leaving him bare.

"What's to be done with these?" Maggie asked, picking up one of the old rags, her nose wrinkling at the odour coming from them. 

"Burn them." Bae ordered with such sincerity. He would have no remnants remaining of his Papa's life in poverty, living as a disgraced outcast.

Maggie bundled the clothes in her arms but kept them at arms length, the smell of them almost making her gag again. Bae couldn't blame her, they were terrible and what was even more terrible was the fact that his Papa had to wear them everyday, possibly even aware of how bad they were or how they smelled. Without his clothing he looked even more pitiful than he had looked when dressed. From his chest down, his body was covered in bruises, both old and new. All of his ribs were clearly visible as were the bones of his pelvis and his knee caps. 

He was like a skeleton.

When Bae lifted him, he weighed virtually nothing. He had no fat and barley any muscle.

He carried him quickly to where the bath stood waiting, Maggie kneeling by the side of it, testing the temperature. The last thing they wanted was to have him go into shock.

"Is the temperature ok?" Bae asked in an almost protective manner. Maggie nodded reassuringly, she had spent a good while making sure that the water was just the right temperature for their guest.

He trusted Maggie's word, he did, but he also wanted to be sure himself. He reached a hand into the water and swirled it around.

_Lukewarm_

Satisfied, he gently eased his Papa into the water, taking care to accommodate his crippled leg. Maggie's heart went out to him as he let out a low involuntary moan, the warm water soothing his aching bones. She had noticed before that the man was disabled. His right knee cap was quite swollen and his ankle was bent inwards at at awkward angle.

_The result of a break?_

Whatever had happened, it had been severe enough to cripple the poor man for life. 

She looked down at the contents she had gathered, retrieving a small bowl make of marble. Inside the bowl was a white, grainy substance which she proceeded to wordlessly sprinkle into the tub, mixing it around.

"What is that?" Bae asked her, gently washing his Papa's back and neck.

"Epsom Salt, Master Baelfire. For his leg."

Baelfire was heartfelt at her consideration.

Epson Salt was used as a natural anti-inflammatory remedy. It was also used to help soothe any aches and pains one may have.

Another obstacle they had faced was the head lice. Maggie had brought a wooden comb with her also, taking it upon herself to see to this problem while Bae made sure that all the dirt and grime was cleaned off his body. She had washed his hair again and again, each time running the comb through his scalp which she would see was badly irritated by the infestation.

"Poor man," She mumbled as she continued to get rid of them. It took five washes of his hair before she was satisfied they were gone, but the irritation and raw skin of his scalp still remained. He must have been scratching at his head constantly, trying to find relief from the little pests.

_No one should have to live like this..._

Bae had washed and scrubbed his Papa until the water of the bath began to turn brown from the filth.

"There now," Bae soothed, lifting his Papa from the now filthy water. He held him as Maggie dried him and his hair, smiling fondly as she rubbed his hair, tousling it.

"Time for bed." Maggie whispered, hand still gently ruffling his hair.

Bae nodded with a smile. Now his Papa could sleep in peace.

He carried him back to his bed, Maggie pulling back the plush blankets as the young man gently laid him down, carefully arranging his limp leg. They didn't reclothe him. Bae doubted that they had anything that would fit his Papa comfortably. He would have his clothes made when the time came but for now he was fine as he was. With a warm, soft bed and a burning fire to warm his feet, Bae knew that he would sleep comfortably.

"I suppose I should start supper." Maggie said with a sigh; the last few hours had been tiring. She walked over to the large glass window to draw the curtains closed, noticing that the sun was setting behind the hills.

_It was almost dusk._

"Mistress Emma and Master Henry will be back soon."


	4. Care

Emma gazed out the carriage window, her eyes threatening to close.

The journey from the market in the small town of Balesborogh was always a tiring one. The journey there and back took a whole day. They had left in the early hours of the morning so that they may enjoy the market but coming back always meant that they didn't arrive home until after dark.

She smiled;  _it was worth it_. 

The look on Henry's face when she told him that they were going to be spending the whole day in the market; that is was just the two of them, his little face beamed with excitement.

Henry loved the market.

He loved the food, the noise, the people, the stalls. He always wanted to run off and explore despite how many times his mother had brought him there. He was such a curious boy, he always wanted to try the food, pet the livestock, look at the various wares displayed on each of the stalls. They had spent hours walking through the Marketplace, eating the food and laughing. They were such friendly folk in Balesborogh, always wishing them a good morrow and bidding them farewell. It was a one of her and Henry's favourite places to go. By the time it was time to go, Henry was so tired that he did not protest, already rubbing his eyes and yawning. The journey back to their home seemed longer than usual, probably because the land was almost in darkness, the fields where black and the only signs of neighbouring homes where from the lit candles in their windows, little glimmers of light glowing in the distance. It was a peaceful sight.

Around an hour into their return journey home, Henry had fallen asleep. Unable to stay awake any longer, he lay slumped into his mother with his head resting on her chest. She wrapped her arm around him, petting his hair as she continued to gaze out the window. It would be another two hours before they reached home.

When they finally came into the cobbled courtyard, the coachman halting the horses, she saw her two Lady's maids, Tildy and Bess standing in the courtyard with a torches in hand. Standing beside them with his hands clasped in front of him, was her husband, Baelfire.Her Bae. 

He approached the carriage as the coachman opened the door for them, Tily and Bess following close behind. 

"Welcome back, My Lady." They welcomed in turn, curtsying politely. 

"My darling," He greeted, an affectionate smile on his face. Emma stepped out of the carriage, followed by Henry who was holding onto the  of her dress, still half asleep. The bumpy movements of the carriage wheels against the cobbled ground had woke him up.

"Husband," She kissed his lips tenderly, his hand resting on her hip.

"Pa...pa," Henry yawned, rubbing his eyes, still not fully awake. 

Bae gently lifted his young son, who wrapped his arms around his Papa, burrowing his face into the crook of his neck. He wrapped both arms around his boy, rocking him, eyes closed. His little boy. There were days he still could not believe that he now had a son of his own, that he was a father. To him, it was merely yesterday when he was a boy, helping his Papa spin his wool in their small hovel.

_This was his son._

Watching Bae with their son, she knew that Henry was the most precious thing in his world. She lay a hand on her boy's head, fingers gently running through his soft brown hair.

_Their little boy._

"I'll put him to bed, sir." Bess whispered, approaching the young couple. Emma nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Bess."

Gently, Bess took Henry out of his father's arms and into her own. Looking down at the tired little boy, she ran a hand through his hair, smiling.

 _Too much excitement for one day,_ she thought, retreating back into the house to put her young charge to bed, leaving the husband and wife alone. 

He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her to him as they watched Bess take Henry into the house while the coachman unpacked the belongings she had purchased at the market. He carried them into the great hall where the servants would take them to her and Bae's bedchambers. Bae looked at the various packages and boxes brought into the house, he even spotted a fur rug. A grey wolf's pelt.

 _Must have been a good day,_ Bae thought. He, himself, tended to avoid markets as old memories never failed to resurface every time he walked around the crowded town squares. Still, they made Emma and Henry happy. They enjoyed the crowds of people, the food and the produce. They enjoyed the experience and if they were happy, then that was all that mattered.Emma had known that her husband did not have a particular fondness for markets but had never knew why. She had asked him on occasion and all he had told her was that he had never had a good experience with them.

 _Maybe his childhood?_ Emma had wondered but pushed no further. There had been a lot of things about her husbands past he solemnly spoke about.

The temperature was dropping even further, frost beginning to glisten the cobbles of the courtyard. The coachman led the horses around to the side of the Manor where the stables were situated. Once they were separated from the carriage, the stable boy would unbridle and brush them, making sure that they were safely locked way and kept warm enough for the night.

"Let's go inside," he said, feeling the temperature begin to drop as his breath became visible in the air.

Together they went into their Manor, Tildy following her Lady. Only inside did they notice the difference. Outside it was dark and cold while the inside of the Manor was lit with candles, fireplaces in every room were lit and burning, the heat spreading throughout the house. Emma had only been gone a day yet every time she came back to their home she felt as though she had been gone so long, the feeling of home was always a beautiful one.

As the large, wooden door shuts behind them, Tildy removed her Lady's cloak, hanging it on a rack next to her husband's.

The Lady of the house nodded her head in dismissal, sending her Lady's maid away for the night.

"Maggie has prepared supper," Bae informed.

Emma's stomach grumbled, it had been a good few hours since she had last eaten and the thought of a hearty meal was a welcoming thought. Bae had not eaten since that morning but his concerns and fears for his Papa's wellbeing had put off all notions of hunger.

So they walked to the kitchen, Emma's arm linked in Bae's, his hand over hers. The aromatic smell coming from the kitchens was mouthwatering. The smell of fresh basil, parsley, herbs and spices. The sound of a a pheasant roasting on a spit over a blazing fire, the meat sizzling as it was turned by a kitchen hand. There were several clay wine jars stored to one side of the large kitchen, beside it were baskets of freshly baked bread, fruit, vegetables and cheeses. On a wooden table in the centre of the kitchen were two finely crafted plates for their meals. They watched as Maggie peeled and cut the fruit and vegetables, sliced the various cheeses, broke the bread and poured the wine into their cups.

As the food was being prepared, the pheasant was taken off the spit and carved. Succulent sections of juicy, roasted meat were served along with the vegetables and wine, the fruit and cheese served on small wooden boards, ready for picking.

They seated themselves at the wooden table of the kitchen. They found it to be more homey in the kitchen, more welcoming, especially with Maggie around. The only times they ever ate in their grand dining room was when they were entertaining guests. 

"Maggie, this is _beautiful!_ " Emma exclaimed, looking at the extravagant meal on her plate.

Maggie felt proud. The kitchen, for her, was a second home. For her, Cooking was not just an occupation for her, it was her joy in life. It was her talent. She loved combining and blending ingredients, discovering new flavours and ways of cooking. When complimented for her cooking she could not help but feel a sense of pride.

Rubbing her worn hands on a damp cloth, she chuckled, with an incline of her head. "I do try, Mistress."

Both Emma and Bae ate with gusto, the taste of the cooked vegetables combined with the seasoned bird was exquisite. For Bae, this was noting like growing up. Never in their lives could he or his Papa dream of feasting on Pheasant. Their primary diet consisted of bread, potatoes and maybe a trace of meat when his Papa could afford it. His Papa would cook their supper every evening, an excuse for him to take a break from spinning. Bae knew they were poor, he knew they had very little and they sometimes had to divide the food for what they were going to eat the next day if his Papa did not make enough money at the market. It made Bae wonder just how long it had been since his Papa had eaten.

He needed to eat soon. He couldn't afford to lose any more weight, he was already dangerously thin as it was. He would need to start him off on something simple; something he was sure his shrunken stomach could handle.

_Soup perhaps?_

Bae nodded, soup was a good idea. It was light, it would be easy for his Papa to swallow and it would also fill him up.

"Maggie," He called his cook, raising a hand to signal her. Maggie abandoning the dishes she was now washing, turned to face her Master;

"Yes, Master Baelfire?" She questioned, looking at him curiously.

"Would you make some soup, please?"  He requested casually. All it took was to look into his eyes for to know who the soup was intended for.

"Of course, sir." She gave him a curt bow and excitedly set to work. She would make her famous Potato and Leek soup.  _He's in for a treat_ , she smiled, setting to work preparing and washing a batch of fresh potatoes and leeks.

Emma, however, gave him an muddled expression. _What did he want soup for?_

"Follow me," He inclined his head towards the upstairs landing, beckoning her to follow. He rose from his seat, Emma following suit, not sure as to where this was going. Tentatively he touched the back of Maggie's shoulder as he and Emma began to leave the room, eyes darting in the direction of his Papa's room. 

_You know where to bring it._

"It won't be long." Maggie replied with a curt nod, hooking a pot of water over the fire to boil.

Watching the interaction between the two, she was even more unsure of herself. She didn't know what was going on. Bae hadn't been acting himself ever since she had arrived back at the Manor. He seemed more quiet, withdrawn. She had suspected that something had been on his mind but did nit wish to press, she assumed that he would speak in his own time about whatever it was that was on his mind. She hurried to keep up with his pace as he lead her out of the kitchen, down the hallway and to the grand stairway.

"Bae, what is going on?" She asked, worry in her voice. She didn't know what was going on and she didn't like it. She didn't like knowing that there was something bothering her husband and she could do nothing to help. She said nothing as he took her hand, sprinting up the stairs and down the hallway towards  _their bedroom?_

 _"Bae,"_ She didn't understand, where was he taking her?

He lead her down the hallway by her hand, stopping not at their bedroom, but at the room next to it? He looked to the sealed door before back to his wife, giving her a little smile. He took her by the shoulders, looking into her eyes. "Emma, someone very sick is in there. Someone very dear to me."

_Someone? There was someone else in the house?_

Seeing the slight alarm in her eyes, Bae took her hand, giving it a tight squeeze. His eyes bore into hers and she could hear his thoughts as clear as day.  _Trust me._

Emma said nothing. She didn't know what to say. She just nodded her head, biting her lip, her eyes laced with concern as she looked at Bae. His eyes were glistening. He held a finger to his lips as he opened the door to let her in. She stepped in slowly and what she saw at first sight almost broke her heart. There, lying in the large four poster bed was a man who was probably in his late forties but a life of poverty, strife and hardship had ages him beyond his years. At first glance he looked to be in his early fifties. His arms where like sticks and his fingers like claws. He was covered by a thick blanket, the rise and fall of his chest was the only indication that this poor creature still lived. His eyes were sunken into his sockets, his cheeks gaunt and his chest was sunken in, revealing his breast bone and his ribs.

He was like a skeleton.

Gasping, she was forced to cover her mouth as her own tears began to fall upon looking at this poor man. _How was he still alive?_ She approached the bed slowly, as though taking acre not to wake him. She gently traced a hand over his cheek.

What had happened to this poor soul? Looking at him, she could tell that this man had lived a life of pain and hardship. 

"Who...who is this?" She asked, looking back at Bae with a now tear streaked face. Bae still stood by the doorway with his hands clasped at his front, his head bowed as his own tears began to fall down his face, dripping into the wooden floor.

"He's..my Papa," He said in a hushed tone, as though it pained him. 

Emma's eyes widened at the realisation. _What?_

This poor, starving wretch was Bae's father? The poor man looked half dead, nothing but skin and bone. 

The she heard something...

_Footsteps?_

They could be heard in the distance, coming from down the hallway, hurrying. The footsteps continued until coming around the corner of the door, Maggie appeared, carrying a steaming bowl of freshly made soup. Bae took the bowl from her with a grateful nod before dismissing her. She had done enough work for the day, she deserved her rest. She gave a small curtsy and left the room. He walked over to the older man's bedside, carrying the steaming bowl in both hands. Sitting down, he set the bowl down as he set about adjusting the pillows, propping them up so that his Papa's head was slightly raised. He moaned in discomfort at the change of position.

Picking the hot bowl up in both hands, he gathered a generous amount onto a silver spoon, blowing it. Emma watched as Bae brought it to his Papa's lips, encouraging him to open his mouth. Feeling something being pressed to his lips, he turned his head away. Bae withdrew his hand, letting out a sigh.

"Come on," Bae whispered. _Please eat._ His Papa turned his head away to the other side. Bae lowered his head in sorrow, if he couldn't get his Papa to eat something soon then he would grow even weaker. He could not lose any more weight and Bae could not bare to lose his Papa a second time. Emma watched the scene before her, her arms folded as she held herself. It was a painful sight to behold, to see this man and her husband both suffer as he tried to get some desperately needed nourishment into his Papa and the reality was that This poor man was dying of starvation. Bae dropped the spoon back into the bowl, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

_He doesn't know what's going on._

"Let me try," Emma's voice spoke up from behind her husband. She dipped her finger into the soup and brought it to his Papa's mouth, running it along his lips. If he knew it was food then maybe he would begin to eat. The man was confused and exhausted, he didn't know what was fully going on around him. She waited and watched in happiness as his tongue tasted the flavour on his lips. Seeing that it was food, he opened his mouth. 

Bae's eyes lit up, gathering another spoonful of soup up and blowing it, he brought it to his Papa who took the soup slowly, swallowing. After a few moments, he opened his mouth again for more. Bae's eyes lit up as he looked back at Emma. _Thank you._

She may have just saved his Papa's life. She smiled back him, giving him a wink. Returning the smile, Bae continued to feed his Papa the soup until the bowl as empty and even then his Papa opened his mouth, still wanting more. Bae gave a small chuckle as he stroked the stray strands of hair out of his Papa's face.

"No more for tonight," he said fondly. He didn't want to overload his stomach. He watched as his Papa's head slowly lolled to the side as sleep overtook him once more. He had eaten hot soup and had a full belly; he was content enough to slip into a peaceful sleep. Bae and Emma watched him as he drifted off, Bae gently readjusting the pillows so that his Papa's head lay down once more. That was probably the best meal he'd had in a long time.

Bae remembered a stew his Papa had used to make him. He would stir it round in the pot as it hung over the fire and then slop it into a bowl. He loved his Papa more than anything, he would do anything for him, to make his life easier but bless him, he was not the best cook. Most of his Papa's cooked meals consisted of brown mush with a meagre trace of meat.

Bae swallowed a piece of pheasant with a sip of wine. It was the experiences of his early life that made him the man he was now. It made him appreciative about life. It made him grateful for the wealth and luxuries he now had. Luxuries neither he or his Papa could ever dream of having; a grand home with exquisite home cooked meals, fine wine, warm beds and clean clothes.

When Bae was a boy, all he ever knew was life in that hovel with his Papa. His Papa tried his best to provide for him, to feed him. Bae remembered his Papa washing his and Bae's clothes in the river outside the village. Since they had no running water in their home they had to make use of the river nearby. It was where they washed their clothes, their dishes and bathed. His Papa had always brought a wooden bucket to take water home and two bundled extra pairs of breeches for the walk home, despite rips and tears.

Bae had always loved bath time as a child, it was a time he and his Papa played together. They laughed and splashed one  another.

With his Papa branded a coward, a disgraced outcast, no one would ever come near them. They avoided his Papa like he had a disease. So it meant that it was only ever him and his Papa bathing together.

Bae remembered one particular time he caught a fish while bathing in the river. His Papa had been undressing, Bae already nude. He had thought he had seen a fish swimming close to the bank and had gone to investigate. 

Maybe he could catch it? 

_"Papa! Look!" Bae shouted, pointing to an area near the shore of the river._

_"What is it, Bae?" His Papa asked, shedding the remnants of his tattered clothing._

_"I caught a fish!" He cried in enthusiasm, holding up the wriggling creature by it's tail. His Papa turned to see that Bae, however he had managed it, had caught a good sized trout._

_"A fine catch!" His Papa praised in astonishment, they would eat well that night._

_"Throw it to me, son!" His Papa called, his arms indicating Bae to throw the fish his way. He flung it onto the pebbled bank where it landed with a wet thud a feet in front of the older man. Taking his wooden walking stick in both hands, he hit it over the head, killing it instantly._ _They needed to eat. Bae needed to eat. Today, they were fortunate._ _They weren't so fortunate as to catch another but it didn't matter; they would half the fish between them with a side of bread. After his Papa had bathed and washed, scrubbed and rinsed their clothes, he filled the bucket with water before they made the walk back to their hovel._ _Back home,_ _Bae cleaned the floor and arranged his Papa's spinning wares while his Papa busied himself with cleaning and cooking the trout._

_Once their catch was safely grilling over the fire, his Papa let himself relax, collapsing heavily into a wooden chair by the table. The walk to and from the river always took it out of him so he needed to rest when they got back if he was to continue spinning after supper. Bae swept the stands of straw from the floor while his Papa rested his leg, the smell and sound of the trout sizzling in the background._

_Their supper that night was the best they had shared in a long time._  

_After they had finished their supper, his Papa cleaned their dishes in the bucket of water he had collected while Bae got ready for bed. Setting the dishes on a small wooden shelf, he made his way over to his wheel, settling himself down to spin. Every night he would spin while Bae slept. He needed to keep on top of his work or else he could not guarantee that there would be food for Bae. There was always so much to be done and so little time. He could only spin for a few hours before he was overtook with exhaustion, finally succumbing to sleep. The small pallet on the floor covered with sheepskin was a welcome relief from the hardships of that day. There were nights where he simply stopped spinning, putting away his supplies and his materials and lay down._

_As soon as his aching back lay on the sheepskin, he was asleep within minutes._


	5. Awake

When he awoke again, he was not in his home. 

The blurs and shadows swirling before his eyes gradually began to normalise to reveal the interior of a large room. Looking around, he saw there was no spinning wheel in the corner. There were no baskets of wool waiting to be spun or weaved nor was there any straw littering the floor. There were no sheep or livestock bleating in their pens outside.

His head lolled weakly to the side as tired his eyes began to focus. There were two large wooden posts at each side of his feet, holding up the bed. Looking down he had also noticed that someone had elevated his leg for him, a pillow cushioning his ankle. Beyond the bed posts there was a large window, closed with curtains. Under the window, a small wooden table and chair sat and built into the wall facing his bed was a large burning hearth; the stones surrounding the area, blackened over years of use.  Above the fireplace sported a magnificent set of antlers. He looked up to see a whitewashed ceiling with oaken rafters crossing over one another from length of the room to the other. The floors were made of wood but decorated with fine embroidered rugs.

"You're awake," he heard a voice beside him say, relief evident in the tone. He turned to see a young woman sitting beside his bed, a smile on her face. He blinked, not knowing what else to say, he nodded which made the young woman chuckle. 

"How are you feeling?" She asked him, hand resting on his frail one. He could see the concern in her eyes, yet he did not know why. Who was this woman? Had they met before? He swallowed before opening his mouth to speak but as soon as he tried to form a word, his breath hitched causing him to have a coughing fit, the woman instantly filling a cup of cold water. She brought it to his lips, urging him to drink slowly. He drank it in small sips, the cool water soothing his aching throat. 

"Better?" She took the cup away, setting it carefully on the nightstand by his bedside. She did not want to give him too much after everything he had been though. He nodded in gratitude.

"Th..ank y..ou." He managed his voice still a little hoarse. She smiled, reaching her hand out to stroke his hair. She regretted the action as he pulled away instinctively in fear. She lowered her arm slowly, showing him that she meant him no harm. He seemed to realize after a few moments that she intended no harm, he gave her an apologetic look.

"I-I'm.." He cleared his throat, still a little painful "I'm sorry, I just.." He didn't know exactly what it was he was going to say. What could he say without making this woman think that he was comparing her to others who had beat him in the past? What would she think?

She nodded with gentle eyes. She understood. From the look of this man she would easily tell that his life had been anything but easy. She would even go as far as to say abused, he could see the fear in his eyes as she had moved her hand.

"It's alright," she reassured, tenderly patting his hand. _You don't need to explain anything to me._ Her reassuring tone and gentle presence gradually out him at ease, the faintest of smiles appearing on his face. Something told him that he had nothing to fear from this woman.

Before he could reply, he seen a you man come into the room. A young man who Rumplestiltskin knew well. For now he was a young man with wealth, position and a family of his own but to him, he would always be that gentle yet sometimes headstrong boy he raised all those years ago. His boy. His Bae. Upon seeing the young man enter the room, the older man's eyes shone. After all these years, he was with his boy again. All those years of praying and hoping to be someday reunited with his boy and now here he was, a fine young man.

"Bae?" His eyes filling with unshed tears as his son approached the bed, Emma sitting back to allow Bae closer to his Papa.

"Papa," Bae let the tears fall as he wrapped his Papa in a tight embrace, burying his head into his neck. All those years of thinking about him and he was here. he had spent so many nights lying awake, wondering if his Papa was awake, if he was alright, if he was thinking about him. He did not doubt that his Papa had not thought of him. He remembered his Papa's face that terrible day, barley holding back his tears as he bid farewell to his boy. Time had passed in a heartbeat and before Bae knew it he was lifted onto the back of a horse and taken away, he had kept his eyes on his Papa until he was no longer in sight and the image of his Papa collapsing on the ground, weeping had haunted him for the past 12 years. His knees had collapsed from under him, his staff laying forgotten on the ground as he openly cried while the other villagers simply ignored him, not one of them offering comfort or condolence. His Papa had suffered alone. Bae had promised when he had taken him back home with him that he would never go without again, that he would never be alone and he would keep that promise. His Papa had given him everything he could and now Bae would return the favour and give his Papa the life he deserved, a life without hardship, pain or loneliness. 

He would have a family that cared for him.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of his Papa's stomach growling. He looked at him with a fond smile while the older man looked down in embarrassment. He lifted the older man's chin so that he met his gentle gaze.

"It's time for breakfast," Bae announced with a smile. He could tell immediately that his Papa was dangerously thin, all his bones were visible and he weighed practically nothing when he had lifted and carried him. It had only brought back memories of when Bae was a boy. There had been so many times his Papa had skipped meals so that Bae could eat, so many nights he heard his Papa's stomach rumbling, needing food. When they had enough food to share it was always a piece of bread with some stew. Stew being the easiest thing since it was a combination of bread, some vegetables and any pieces of meat they managed to purchase at market and that was usually on special occasions. It was all thrown into a pot and boiled in hot water. Bae smiled. That, and it was the only thing his Papa knew how to make but he tried his best no matter what. With him and his Papa, they survived each day on what they had. They made due with what they could. It was this lifestyle that Bae had grown up with that still stuck with him, now with his new life, with Emma and Henry he did not need to worry about where his next meal might be coming from but for his Papa, up until yesterday, it was the only life he had ever known. Bae knew that it would be a big change for his Papa, even a struggle to adapt to but Bae would never allow him to return to that life.

He needed to put on weight. He would have a routine of regular meals and over time he would gain weight, become stronger. Bae stood, straightening his tunic. He never took his eyes off his Papa, resting a hand on Emma's shoulder, giving her a little pat before making his way down to the kitchens.

Emma turned her eyes back to her father-in-law and smiled a reassuring smile that made Rumplestiltskin visibly relax.

"Maggie should have your breakfast made soon," She commented and Rumplestiltskin looked at her as though she had just spoken a different language.

 _His breakfast was being made?_ He had assumed that he would be making it himself. Was that not the case? 

Looking at him, seeing the confused and slightly uneasy expression on his face, her brow furrowed. Was there something wrong?

"Are you alright?" She asked, concerned for his change in demeanour. He nodded hastily, not wanting her to think that anything was the matter. The last thing he wanted to do was to give this woman the wrong impression. But then again, was he not taking up someone's time making his breakfast? He could do it himself. He had done so for many years, there was no need for someone to make him his breakfast. Why was someone making him his breakfast? He simply couldn't think why someone would want to bother, not when they would have other duties to carry out. He looked into the young woman's eyes, seeing no trace of anger or annoyance which was something he usually saw when he met the eyes of others, so more often than not he tended to avoid eye contact with most people, all because he did not want to see the scorn in their eyes. All it did was remind him of how low he was, how much dishonour hsi had brought onto himself by doing what he did. He knew he should answer her, despite the dryness in his mouth.

"There is no reason for anyone to wait on me, Milady." He replied politely with a nod of his head, old habits still remaining. When addressing someone higher than yourself, always be humble.

"Emma." She corrected, causing him to look up at her in surprise. She could tell by the look on his face that he was confused. She patted his hand in a reassuring manner. "My name is Emma." He nodded, his mouth opening and closing, not quite knowing what to say. 

"You don't need to be nervous," she reassured him in a gentle tone, seeing that the man was indeed nervous. She did not know how low the man thought of himself.

"I'm sorry," He replied, looking away from her. "For what?" She questioned, leaning forward. The older man just shook his head, he didn't even know what he was sorry for. It was more of a conditioned response more than anything else. In his daily life, if he said he was sorry that was usually enough to get by without being harassed or bothered. He would say it for as long as he needed to until he was safely behind the door of his little hovel. Some days were not as bad as others. There were days he could spin without the villagers shouting or banging at his door, where he could go to the market and only get a few looks and not be pushed to the ground or laughed. Every time he left the safety of his home he was always prepared for the worst, for a beating or a kick to come his way. Most times it did, but when it did not he felt like the luckiest man alive. He was used to going to the market and getting jeered at, most avoided him and his wares like the plague which meant that some nights he went to bed hungry, not being able to make enough coins to afford a single loaf of bread. He had taken the jeers, the shouts, the name calling, willing himself to be brave. He would be the coward they thought he was, he would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him shake, but it was a ruse. Inside he was breaking, screaming to run and not come back. 

There were days he could not bear to leave his hovel, for fear of the outside world. There were days he was too sore to move, the bruises on his back and sides swollen and making it agony for him to move his bed.

"Your breakfast will be arriving shortly," Emma spoke up, standing up. He looked up at her in surprise, had he done something to make her leave? She had spoken so suddenly it had made him jump slightly and now she was standing to leave. His unease was as clear as day to Emma who said nothing, only walking across the room to the large wardrobe sitting in the corner, opening the double doors before rummaging through whatever garments were inside, he needed to be decent. Most of the garments in the wardrobe where tunics belonging to Bae, there were of simple, loose cut but they would do for now until they could get him properly measured for his future garments. She took the softest tunic and breeches she could find and brought them back to the bed, setting them down by his hand. He let his hand wander across the soft fabric, feeling completely different to the tunic that he had previously been wearing. It was rough and dirty while these clothes were soft and clean. 

"You'd best get dressed,"

He looked up at her with his hands still clutching the fabric. He nodded slightly. He supposed it was time he got dressed. As soon as she had mentioned the idea of getting dressed he had only just remembered that beneath the thick covers of his blankets, he was naked.

"...Thank you, Milady" He said. She then gave him a look, her eyebrow raised and her head cocked to the side, a look that indicated disapproval? He felt a sudden surge of panic, what had he done wrong? What had he done?

"It's Emma," she corrected, keeping her tone gentle.

"Emma," He rightened himself with a determined nod of his head and was relieved to see a smile spread across her face as she gave a single nod of her head. He felt his shoulders slump in relief, he would need to remember her name in future.

_Emma. Emma. Emma._

She gave him a little bow of her head, something that made his mind race. She was bowing in respect to him? Why? What had he done to deserve it? Once again seeing the confusion on his face in response to her polite bow she let out a small chuckle. "I'll leave you to change." And with that, she turned and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her. It took a while before he found the strength to sit upright in bed, despite the aid of the numerous pillows supporting his back. But, he supposed that he would have to move sometime. Turning the garments to and fro he saw that there were made of a thin linen, were made of simple cut but were finely made all the same. Certainly nothing to the rags he had been wearing. It didn't take him long to change as he carefully pulled the long tunic over his head, letting it hang loosely before pulling on his breeches which involved him having to manually manavour his leg.

He looked down at his feet.

Never in his life could he dream of living in a place like this. This was a place of wealth. This room had a large bed, oaken floors and rafters, rugs, a large fireplace, soft linen sheets and much more. It must have cost a fortune, he paled to even assume how much. Most likely more than he could ever make in his lifetime. What he got in return for selling his wares could barley amount to enough food to feed him and his boy. 

Whenever he did make enough to provide food for himself and his boy, it was stale and bland. But as stale or as bland as the food was, it was food. Something that they desperately needed. After food, he would continue with his spinning while his boy would get ready for bed. He always looked forward to his bed at the end of the day or work and chores, it was the only time he was truly as peace. When he dreamt, he dreamt of a better life, good food, fine clothing and most importantly; his boy having a future. He dreamt of fine foods, rich in texture and flavour. He dreamt of days he did not have to spin, to cook or clean. He dreamed of days he could have just for himself. Days he could just rest, Bae out playing with the other children. Not that the other children wanted anything to do with his Bae. All because he was his father's son.

When he slept at night, he could escape all of that. The pain in his leg never ceased but accepting that it never would made it more bearable for him. It was the only way he could handle it, otherwise he could be in agony every second of the day. He couldn't let it or anything else get on top of him. All he had to think about was Bae and what he needed, he would go without before he would let his boy.  

Finally dressed, sat quietly and waited. Emma said that his breakfast would be brought to him, something that still unnerved him. Never in his life had he been served or waited upon, so why now? He was a cripple, yes, but he wasn't useless enough that he could not make his own breakfast. For as long as he could remember, he had made what little things he had last for both his own sake as well as his boy's. That was the way he had lived his life and it was something that-

There was a sudden knocking at the door, a tentative knock before a voice asked. "are you decent?"

It was Emma. He recognised her voice.

"Um..y-yes." He responded, not knowing what else to say. He could not say for them to come in as it was not his room hence not his place to do so, so a simple answer would have to suffice he supposed. With his permission given, the door slowly opened to reveal Emma and an older woman carrying a silver tray which held a beautifully decorated ceramic bowl with a silver spoon and a glass of milk.

"Well, look who's awake!" The older woman beamed happily as she brought the tray over to his bedside, setting it on his lap. "Your breakfast, sir." She gave a polite curtsy. It made his cheeks flush. Sir? All his life, he had nothing but fealty. Kissing the boots of others and struggling to get by on what little he had. Never could he ever dream of being called 'sir' or of being spoken to with such respect much less being _served breakfast in bed!_

He looked down at his tray and what he seen made his mouth water, sitting on his lap was a steaming bowl of oatmeal mixed with blackberries and raspberries with a drizzle of golden honey. His stomach growled loudly at the sight of it and to his embarrassment a small line of drool coming from the side of his mouth, but if any of theme had noticed they did not say anything. Unable to help himself, he took a deep inhale, practically tasting it already. He wiped the drool from his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at the two women standing by his bedside. He pointed to himself.

_For me?_

"All for you, dear." The older woman smiled, tucking a white napkin down the front of his thin tunic. They were having to coax a grown man to eat. Looking down at the napkin, he looked up to Emma and then back to the food. Emma reached out and pat his hand. "Eat up, Rumple." He started at the mention of his nickname. How did she know who he was? Who was she? 

"Come on now, before it gets cold." The older woman playfully scolded, giving his arm a little nudge, encouraging him to eat. Nodding, he picked up the silver spoon with a shaky hand before scooping it into the bowl before bringing it to his mouth. Upon taking his first spoonful, the soft, sweet texture of the oatmeal mixed with berries and honey made him close his eyes, a small moan of pleasure escaping him. It had to be one of the best things he had ever tasted!  After his first spoonful, he was unable to help himself. He took another mouthful. Then another. Then another after that and was soon eating with gusto, much to the satisfaction of both Emma and Maggie.

"Poor man," Maggie sighed sadly looking to her Lady; Emma nodding as they watched the frail man eat as if it was suddenly going to be taken away from him. When he had finally finished the bowl, to Emma and Maggie's shock he carefully lifted the bowl and licked whatever was remaining of his breakfast before finally slumping against the pillows, his belly full.

"Where is my husband, Maggie?" Emma asked. The last she had seen of Bae was when he had left to order breakfast for his father and now he had simply vanished. Maggie, turned her eyes from Rumple who lay with his eyes closed, his body adjusting to the presence of food.

"I'm afraid Master Baelfire had some matters to atten-"

"...Husband?" The smallest sound had come from the timid causing Emma and Maggie to both look to see the man looking staring at them with wide eyes. Emma nodded in silent confirmation, her lips pursed. She had not yet told him of her connection to his son. When was the right time?

"...Bae..." He nodded the name to himself, as though assuring himself that it was the right person that he had in mind. Emma's heart ached at the sight of him, the man clearly had a long road ahead of him. He looked back to her with almost weary eyes. "My son...my Bae.....married?" To him, it felt as though it was only yesterday when he was coming back with a basket full of wool from the market only to be met by his little boy when he got home, Bae would be cleaning for his Papa returning. His little boy. Had so much time passed that his boy was truly married? A husband? His...his baby...

He sniffled.

"I'll leave the two of you alone," Maggie hushed, picking up the tray from his lap before quickly, quietly making her way back down to the kitchens to resume her duties.

It made sense to him now. Why she was so welcoming, why she had not judged him or scorned him as so many other did, how she came to know his childhood nickname. It all made sense. A part of him had already known, somehow, in some way, he had known of their connection but to hear it? To have it confirmed? He felt tears well in his eyes, powerless to stop them from falling. He buried his head in his hand and wept, not caring if she seen him cry. He had every right to. He had made the choice to give up his boy and in doing so he had missed so much of his life. He felt strong arms around him, holding him, supporting him. Was he truly that weak?

"Oh Papa, it's alright..." She whispered, a tender hand gently stroking his hair. His eyes opened; _Papa?_ She called him Papa? Only Bae ever called him that; his family. Did she truly see him as family? As part of _her_ family? Bae was her family, but that did not mean that he had to be. He would like to be. He had never had a real family before. It had always just been him and Bae. Bae was his world and after he left, he had just faded. He no longer cared about what the villagers thought of him, he only grieved for Bae. He never thought he would see him again and for Bae to come and take him back with him, it was almost like a dream. For a while, he had thought he was dreaming. The dream would soon end and he would wake up back in his little hovel in his village, another day of toiling and work. 

But it wasn't a dream. This was real. He was in a large, warm bed with a full belly. He was reunited with his son and now he had a daughter-in-law? She was his family. And she viewed him as hers. She called him Papa. She had welcomed him with open arms. He buried his head into her neck, what was the point in holding himself back?

"I-I can't thank you enough for what you have done for me," he whimpered, tears still falling. Emma hushed him, gently pushing back against the pillows. He'd be staying in bed until they had a physician look at him and then they would determine the next course of action for him. Bae would be back, but she would continue to watch over him until then.

"We're a family now, Papa." She hushed, stroking his newly washed hair as he continued to sniffle, trying his best to cease his tears but they kept coming.

_Family...._

For the first time in his miserable life, he had a family.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short 'What If?' OneShot, Bae was given up for a better life, he made something of himself and now has returned to take his papa back home with him.


End file.
